‘The people who matter already know,’ he says, his voice tight. ‘All this will do is have people talking about how she died, like it’s some form of true crime TV show. Well, I won’t have it. Those who knew and loved Kelly will always know and love her. I don’t need some gutter journalist telling the world how my girl was murdered.’

He glares at his wife, but she drops her gaze. He swears under his breath and storms out of the living room towards the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry,’ Bernie says, her face beetroot with embarrassment. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. I thought he’d come round.’

‘It’s okay,’ I soothe, even though I’m bitterly disappointed. ‘I know this is unbearably hard for you both.’

‘He thinks he let her down,’ she says, staring at the open door. ‘He should’ve protected her. He’s never been able to forgive himself for that. He blames himself more than he blames Harte. Always has. It’s a daddy’s job to protect their children, he says.’ She glances down at the floor. ‘I’ll never forget it, you know. The noise that came out of him when they brought her home. I was off my head on sedatives from the doctor, you know, but I still remember it. That would’ve cut through any haze.

‘He was like a wounded animal, roaring over her coffin.’ Her voice is breaking and tears are flowing freely. ‘He kept telling her he was sorry. Telling her she could have anything she wanted if she just opened her eyes and came back to him. Promised he’d take her to Disney World. If she’d just get up. Kissing her face, stroking her hair. His wee baby.

‘I couldn’t even stand up to pull him away, and the boys squealing, crying beside me. Him trying to rub some warmth back into her hands. “C’mon, pet,” he said to her. “Time to rise and shine. Don’t you be leaving me now.” It was more than we could take, you know. And then … well, then she was buried and Christ, do you know what it’s like to be expected to leave your child in the cold ground? To walk away from them? How were we supposed to do that? How is any mammy or daddy supposed to do that?’

Bernie sniffs. She is lost in her memories and I’m taking notes, recording her words, and my heart is cracking for her. But I can’t lie. I’m also thinking this is incredible stuff. Will make for a brilliant story in the paper, or chapter in the book. This is gold. Sometimes I wonder if I am nothing more than the gutter press, just like they say.

She keeps talking.